BEST FOR: AN INFORMAL DINNER

BarBoulud

et in the perfect space for an air-raid shelter, Bar

Boulud less the belly than the feet of the Mandarin
Oriental commands a prospect of both the A4 and
Sloane Street from its basement perch in Edwardian stone.
Or it would perhaps, if the ceilings were not quite so
low. Inside, however, you can see why its designer, Adam
Tihany, dropped the roof. The cosy factor is multiplied,
the fractions of space articulated in burgundy leather
banquettes, oak floors and wainscoting arrest the correct
cadences of intimacy and distance. Near, and yet here so
far, from the affluent and madding Knightsbridge crowd,
this is an unapologetic big-city brasserie.
Its also dripping New York. Of course it is. Its Daniel
Bouluds gaff. A titan among chefs here and across the
pond, he sits beneath our compatriot Heston Blumenthal
only in terms of storeys, not status, at the hotel. With three
Michelin stars and a CV that includes spells under Roger
Verg, Georges Blanc and Michel Gurard, Boulud will not
have entrusted Dean Yasharian to run this popular outpost,
with its nimbus of Atlantic cool, without good reason.
Im here to try the brunch menu, a three-course
menu of simple pleasures, starting with an aperitif of
fruit or vegetable juice, or, if you prefer to add a little
fizz to your Sabbath, an alcoholic option. Bubbles
and lubrication aside, my eye is on the first course:
Im surrounded by tables laden
with charcuterie. This is such a
porcine feast Id have to swallow
a butchers dictionary and a
beginners guide to French just
to understand whats between my
chops just some of the things I
scoff are rosette de Lyon, Bayonne
ham, jambon de Paris, pork pat
with foie gras, chicken liver and
rabbit terrine, not to mention
various saucissons and boudins.

Roughly 80 per cent of Bar Boulud customers are

regulars. Many of these return on the strength of the
burger offering, so it would be rude not to try the latest
brunch burger creation. This is a Gallic amalgam of
a fantastically Anglo set of ingredients: beef, bacon,
Cheddar cheese and a fried egg, delivered by waiting
staff that neither hover nor avoid the eye. Pouncing on
the table only at the most opportune moments, they
emerge from the margins where wine splodges like
gunshots frame Daniel Bouluds favourite vintages.
The fireworks continue with desserts which,
although perhaps a little safe, contain no hiccups.
Choosing between a brownie, trifle and a freshly made
waffle is hard, so the gaggle of girls Im with annihilate
the problem by ordering all three. As they bury all their
new year resolutions in one sitting, I drown mine in
buckets of fizz, and the whole affair draws to a jubilant
close, bolstered by the fact that
the bill for each of us ducks
below the 40 mark.
Bar Boulud, 66 Knightsbridge,
London SW1X 7LA, 020 7201
3899 (barboulud.com)